Truancy Origins Page 10

  Umasi felt an instinctive surge of panic, but Zen remained completely calm.

  “Believe me, Father, I was disappointed that day as well,” Zen said quietly. “It was all my fault, though. I coerced Umasi into going along with it. But I assure you, it won’t happen again . . . ever. After all, I do indeed know how serious it is, to be a Truant.”

  Umasi shook his head as Zen and their father exchanged words about the evils of truancy, leaving him totally forgotten. At least it now felt like old times, Umasi realized. He had probably spoken more during that dinner than he had at any five others combined.

  Watching his brother, Umasi couldn’t wait for the dinner to end as the look in Zen’s eyes grew increasingly dangerous. And yet, at the same time, Umasi dreaded what might happen once dinner was over.

  This feels . . . strange, Zen noted idly as he zipped up his backpack. Am I really going to do this to Umasi? Have things changed that much?

  Though he kept asking himself those questions, he already knew the answers. After all, they had been so obvious for quite a while, and Zen was not in denial. It had all started with the revelation and the betrayal, the boundless outrage slowly boiling inside of him. It festered, growing stronger over time. Zen was perfectly capable of thinking and planning rationally, but only in the service of his intoxicating obsession. It mastered him, consumed him. A relentless fixation, it lay in wait in the dark corners of his mind, omnipresent and omnipotent. It knotted his guts, it blackened his heart, and it poisoned his thoughts.

  It was the greatest feeling he had ever experienced.

  He couldn’t escape it.

  He didn’t want to escape it.

  Am I going insane? Zen wondered as he shifted the backpack aside. Or returning to sanity?

  Zen reflected on what he was about to do, and then burst into laughter at a sudden realization. This was nothing new after all. He was simply going to fulfill a dream that he had always had. What student had never dreamed of rebelling against school? But he, among all the students of the City, had the ability to realize that dream. All he had been missing was justification, motivation, the drive to set it all in motion . . . .

  And now, at last, he had it.

  Zen smiled grimly and reached for the black windbreaker jacket hanging from a peg, buttoning it around his neck, leaving the sleeves loose so that it splayed behind him like a cape. Zen then slung his backpack onto his shoulder. Its original school contents had long since been emptied out upon the floor, replaced by more practical items. He was dressed warmly, with a black sweater and two other layers besides. He clenched his fists, savoring for a moment the new feeling of freedom and empowerment coursing through his body.

  Then the door opened, and Umasi entered the room, staring at Zen.

  “You’re not here to play a game,” Zen observed, folding his arms.

  “No, I’m not,” Umasi agreed, walking over to his desk. “Were you going somewhere?”

  “I still am.”

  “I see,” Umasi said, looking away. “You know, I’ve had an idea. What if we confronted Dad about this? Do you think we might be able to change something?”

  “No.” Zen snorted. “He views us as lab rats.”

  “You can’t honestly believe that.”

  “It’s the truth!”

  “So you’re really determined to do this then?” Umasi asked, his voice strained. “Without even trying anything else?”

  “You and I both know the answer to that,” Zen replied as he retrieved a baseball bat from under his bed and began examining it. “And what about you? Is your decision final?”

  Umasi sighed, still unable to face Zen.

  “When I see classmates and teachers, I see lives, Zen. I’m not like you. I can’t see them as calculations or part of a greater scheme,” Umasi said. “I’m not going to take part in anything that’ll end those lives.”

  Zen quietly walked behind Umasi, still examining his baseball bat.

  “So your final answer is no?”

  “That’s right.” Umasi nodded as he sadly looked down at the pages of schoolwork strewn across his desk.

  “I’m afraid it’s your choice to make.” Zen sighed. “But just one thing, Brother . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’m sincerely sorry about this.”

  Before Umasi could pick up on the danger in those words, Zen raised the baseball bat and brought it crashing down upon Umasi’s head. Umasi crumpled to the ground, rendered unconscious by the blow. Zen bent down to examine Umasi, and after satisfying himself that his brother was merely asleep (and would remain so for a while) he proceeded over to the dresser.

  Resting atop it, in their customary places, were the two account cards labeled Z and U. Zen ran his fingers over one, then the other, before seizing both and slipping them into his pockets.

  It would really begin that night, Zen exulted as he exited the room and made his way down to the lobby. As he slipped out a service entrance of the mansion to avoid the watchman, he felt the cold, liberating winter air hit his face. He pulled the hood of the windbreaker over his head and then headed straight for District 7, the closest abandoned district on his map.

  At last, there would be no more waiting.

  He would finally teach the City the meaning of Truancy.

  Dear Sirs,

  I know that it has been some time since my last report. As always, no news tends to be good news, especially in this City. I must admit that when I was first assigned here, the idea of using academics to control a population seemed absurd to me. But after years of seeing these Educators at work, I cannot help but be impressed. All signs indicate that this City and the methods behind it have been successful. Civil unrest is unheard of, violent demonstrations nonexistent, and open rebellion a fairy tale. My personal recommendation is, and has long been, that we adopt this City’s philosophy immediately. However I understand that my opinion is not the one that matters concerning that greatest of steps.

  As for the two children entrusted into the Mayor’s care, I have not had an opportunity to meet them myself. However, and you must forgive my editorializing, I believe that the Mayor is as fine a guardian as we could have hoped for. Of course, he is dedicated to his work, and his results are more impressive than any Mayor before him—but at the same time he seems to possess a genuine sympathy for his adopted sons. Indeed, this attachment is no secret among his staff. I will continue to monitor the situation, but thus far I have been given no reason not to believe that the boys are in excellent hands.

  Your Servant,

  207549627

  8

  AWAKENING

  Asudden spasm of pain jerked Red awake. He didn’t get up immediately, but instead shut his eyes and groaned loudly in protest. As if in response, the pain prodded him again, harder, forcing him to sit up. Red winced and clutched his gut, which swiftly gave him a third agonizing jolt, insuring that he was really conscious.

  “Okay, okay, I’m up,” Red complained, stretching his back and limbs.

  Red had seen better days. The winter was already proving to be a nasty one, and the first snowfall days ago had been murder on his stamina. The City’s snowplows did not clear out the abandoned districts, and the last of that first snow had only melted the day before. Without the relative safety provided by the gang, Red had taken to sleeping in a different place every night. To do so, Red had to trudge through wet snow, sogginess penetrating all three layers of his clothing. Wet, freezing, alone, and hungry. Not the best of combinations.

  On the other hand, Red had also seen worse days, but he didn’t really like to think about those. Ever.

  Cursing his appendix as he finished stretching, Red felt his stomach growl. Only in their absence had Red realized that he’d gotten used to Chris’ gang sharing information about what food sources were safe at what times. Without those tips, it had been especially difficult to find edible things, and though the snow had faded, Red didn’t foresee it getting any easier. The only bright side was
that Red had recently overheard a couple of other vagrants talking about Chris. Apparently the boy was still alive, along with at least some of his crew. Still, Red had no idea where to find them, and any search for them could also lead him right to their rivals, who probably hadn’t gotten over their last encounter with Red.

  Red’s stomach growled again, punctuated by an especially sharp stab of pain in his gut. Red slapped at the general area of his appendix and scowled at the resulting agony, his mind drawn back to practicality.

  “All right then,” Red muttered. “I’ll just have to feed myself.”

  Before he awoke, Red had been sleeping in the stairwell of an abandoned office building in District 8. He found that even without heating or lights, it was relatively warm and dry, and no one had discovered him there. Ignoring the complaints of his body, Red raced down the stairs to the ground floor and quickly exited the building. Jogging steadily, it didn’t take him long to run across District 8 and reach the border of the lively District 5. As he ran, he tried not to pay much attention to the dead and largely crumbling buildings. Maybe the hunger was playing tricks on his mind, but he didn’t like the way they seemed to leer at him in the pale morning sun, their dirty, clouded windows staring like dead eyes.

  As Red reached the border of District 7, he slipped down another back alley, running down it until he reached a chain-link fence. Using the links as footholds, Red swiftly climbed over it, his heart beating faster as he dropped down into an alley of District 5. Already he could hear and see glimpses of people walking on the sidewalk—simultaneously his predators and his prey.

  Silently edging down the alley, Red tried to gauge the number of people treading the sidewalk. He quickly determined that it wasn’t busy enough to be a weekday; he’d lost track of the days a long time ago. This was a mixed blessing. On one hand, he would have been harder to pick out in a large crowd. On the other, if he were discovered, he’d have a much better chance of escaping through a sparse crowd. In any case, he didn’t have much of a choice. There was no way he could afford to wait around for a day or two.

  With his angry gut prodding at him to hurry up, Red took a deep breath and sniffed the air as he inspected the street as best he could. There didn’t seem to be any food stands around, so there was no way for him to directly steal something to eat. Still, Red smiled; there were always the pedestrians passing by the mouth of the alleyway. Spotting a well-dressed elderly man with a wallet sticking out of his pocket, Red sprung into action, slipping out of the alley and onto the streets. No one seemed to notice him, or at least didn’t care enough to point him out. That was typical; Red found that citizens of the City usually tried to ignore him, which was really the best treatment that he could expect from them.

  Red and the man in front of him waited at a street corner for the stop sign to change, along with a number of other people bunched up tightly in the queue. When the light did change, the elderly man, along with the rest of the group, rushed forward across the street trying to make up for lost time, leaving Red all alone on the curb. Red grinned as he slipped the man’s wallet into one of his pockets. No one had seen a thing.

  Red next targeted a woman who was busy talking on her cell phone. As she walked along, oblivious of her fellow pedestrians, Red sneaked up behind her and drew her wallet from out of her handbag. Unfortunately for him, however, this time he was spotted, and a man grabbed his arm before he could pocket his plunder.

  “Got you!” the man shouted triumphantly, turning to look for the woman whose wallet Red had stolen. “Miss! Hey miss, this brat stole your wallet!”

  Red didn’t panic, but rather watched amusedly as the clueless woman walked on, still chattering into her phone. The man attempted to get her attention again, but as he did Red suddenly jerked his arm free and made a run for it. The man let out a shout of outrage and ran after him, but Red could tell that he would never catch up. He was old and fat, and Red still prided himself on being able to run pretty well.

  Dashing down an alley that Red knew would lead back to District 8, he spared a glance behind him just in time to see his pursuer skid to a halt. Red grinned to himself. None of the citizens of the City were willing to pass into the abandoned districts; only the Enforcers ever pursued vagrants into those forbidden areas.

  As soon as Red was safely standing back upon the empty, noiseless streets of District 8, he drew the wallets out from his pocket and inspected the contents. He was pleased to find a decent bundle of cash in both wallets, but less pleased to see a number of account cards. He knew that the cards probably had access to more money than he could ever dream of getting his hands on, but attempting to use them could easily tip off the Enforcers even if it worked.

  Still, the cash suited Red just fine. Hopefully he could make it last him through winter, though he doubted that it would. At worst, he could always attempt the same thing again. He’d always gotten away with it so far, and besides, he found the art of stealing to be a refreshing escape from monotony.

  But as the adrenaline and the excitement faded, Red abruptly realized that his stomach was still grumbling. He didn’t feel safe spending the stolen money just yet, and that still left the problem of what he was supposed to eat.

  Zen chewed the piece of beef jerky slowly, enjoying the juice as it ran down his throat. It wasn’t anything he’d order in a restaurant, but it tasted all right, if a bit on the salty side. In any case, he wasn’t really concerned about the flavor of his rations; the most important thing for him was that the stuff took forever to go bad and was fairly nutritious.

  After taking a swig from his water bottle, Zen reached inside his backpack and seized a bag of dried apple slices. He popped a few into his mouth, then washed them down with more water before standing up straight to survey his surroundings. He had slept quite comfortably in the interior of a run-down car he’d found in District 7. There was evidence of someone having slept there before, but whoever it was had long since moved on, and Zen wasn’t about to be picky about his bedding.

  Zen slung his backpack back onto his shoulders and left the car behind, walking along the empty streets, carefully examining each building he passed. Finding a small shop with its windows and doors boarded up, Zen drew a hammer out of his bag and smashed the boards to pieces until he could get in. The interior was a crumbling mess, but it was roomy enough and would serve for Zen’s purposes. Taking a can of red spray paint out of his pocket, Zen methodically sprayed a small symbol inside the doorway of the building, where no one would spot it unless they were looking for it.

  The symbol was a red circle, with the letter T slanted clockwise contained within it. Zen marked the exact spot of the shop on his detailed map of the City, and then proceeded to search. Soon he would fill all the safe houses he had marked with supplies, so that the Truants would never have to remain still. They would be able to strike without warning and vanish into the abandoned districts, hiding in any of a hundred different locations.

  As he worked, Zen felt an airy, liberating feeling within him, an excitement stemming solely from his newfound independence. It wasn’t a sudden or fleeting sensation, but rather the lightening of a spirit that had finally freed itself from bondage and had begun forging its own fate.

  Zen found himself so caught up in his blissful work that he never once gave a thought to the brother he had left behind. Zen stood completely alone and felt all the more powerful for it. Others would join him later, he knew, but for now it was just him against the City, and he couldn’t wait for the first battle to be fought.

  Hey, Rothenberg, sir!”

  “What is it now?” Rothenberg grumbled, ambling over to the patrol car with a paper cup of coffee in hand.

  “We’ve gotten some complaints in from District 5. Looks like there’s a vagrant running loose there, pickpocketing people right off the street.”

  “In broad daylight?” Rothenberg raised an eyebrow.

  “Looks like it, sir.”

  “Those animals get bolder every day.
” Rothenberg smiled, his grip tightening on the coffee cup. “Do we have a description?”

  “Wild brown hair and ragged clothes, that’s all that the guy got a good look at, sir,” the Enforcer replied.

  “It’s a start.” Rothenberg nodded as he got into the car. “District 5 isn’t too far away. Let’s go.”

  “Do you think that the vagrant will still be hanging around there?” the Enforcer asked skeptically as he started the engine.

  “You don’t know these kids like I do.” Rothenberg chuckled, a deeply disturbing sound. “If this one successfully pulled off something like this, he won’t be satisfied with just a few wallets. He’ll strike again, maybe even today.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” the Enforcer inquired, navigating his way through tight traffic.

  “Then we’ll do a sweep of Districts 7 and 8,” Rothenberg said. “Flush him out and maybe nail a few of his dirty little friends too.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rothenberg leaned back in his seat and watched the buildings on either side pass by. He loved doing this, actually getting out onto the streets and participating in the hunt for vagrants. Desk work reminded him too much of his old stint as a teacher, an experience that he did not remember with much fondness. While he had enjoyed being able to lord over rooms full of uppity teenagers, he had taught drawing. Drawing. Few things bored Rothenberg more than watching kids scribble away without any semblance of talent. He had hated the subject with all his guts, but his limited talents hadn’t allowed him to teach anything else.

  Fortunately, his notoriously strict treatment of his students attracted the attention of the local Disciplinary Officer, who had facilitated a career change to the Enforcers. From there he had served with distinction and enthusiasm, quickly rising through the ranks until he had earned the prestigious position of Chief Truancy Officer.